


Fun Talk

by twuewuv (wyobrazacsobie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Female!Stiles Stilinski - Freeform, Magic Made Them Do It, Masturbation, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, so much porn omg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyobrazacsobie/pseuds/twuewuv
Summary: Before werewolves and magic, Stiles never had sex and barely masturbated. Now, after werewolves and magic, she...well, she’s still never had sex and still barely masturbates. It's just the way Stiles is. She's usually too distracted to give much focus on herself....Usually.(Magic-Made-Them-Do-It!Fic, and by them I mean all of them! This is a multiple pairing fic from Fem!Stiles POV. Straight up porn with plot thrown in. Will add pairings in the tags as they come.)





	1. Self Love

**Author's Note:**

> Dudes...Welcome to a new story. I know I have another one ongoing but I need this out of my system. This is unbeta'd and purely for fun (although plot got in here accidentally but whatever, it's still mostly porn). This is basically writing practice for sexy scenes cause I don't have basically any experience of it. I hope ya'll enjoy and don't mind the girl!Stiles switch. I just have a lot more fun writing that perspective :p 
> 
> K, Enjoy!!!

Stiles sometimes marvels at the changes in her life. She’s got friends, plural now, that’s still a bit of a surprise to her, and a long list of experiences she can’t tell anyone about unless she wants to get sent to the loony bin. Knowing werewolves and knowing magic is certainly one of the best _and_ worst things to ever happen to her, but she’s still glad it’s happening at all compared to how her life could have gone.

Where it was going before Scott got bitten - well, when she thinks about it, it was pretty sad and boring compared to now. She shaved her hair off moreso for control and frustration with life, she sneaked out of the house a lot for distractions that Scott couldn’t always give, and there were some nights where her mothers picture was so bright against the darkness of her room, where her dad was at work another night and morning, night, morning, night, that the loneliness crept up her spine like spiders, where the glass of her window looked nice enough for her head to smash through -

...where, where, where. A lot of where’s.

Now she has more distractions than she can handle. Now she has an emotionally constipated werewolf that breaks into her house every other week, which _used_ to be three times a week, but they’re slowly working on boundaries. It’s still not exactly cohesive, but it’s not as difficult as it used to be.

Now her hair is to her ears and she feels a bit like a dandelion, especially in mornings when it’s up every direction and sort of looks poofy. Now, with how much she’s helped in life and death situations, there’s a sort of confidence she has that she may still be learning to carry, but it’s there. She hasn’t done a one eighty of personality or looks, god knows he wouldn’t know how to avoid those questions from her dad. She’s still mostly boyish in apparel and would rather play lacrosse. Still doesn’t wear makeup and cannot, for the life of her, figure out how Lydia wears heels so often. But she doesn’t hide herself with sweaters as often as she used to. And maybe now her jeans are a bit skinnier than before.

In terms of sexuality, she’s the same, she thinks. She never had sex and barely masturbated, and now she’s still never had sex and still barely masturbates. Honestly her mind is so easily distracted that usually she can’t get herself to orgasm - she just lets herself feel good for a while, then thinks about something to research, or realizes she still has homework, or gets hungry, and now her mind is elsewhere and the need dies down. Especially with the constant distraction of being in the supernatural know-how, she finds a lot of things to take her mind off of herself. Her vibrator can get her there when she’s really aching for an orgasm, but usually...eh.

Usually.

* * *

  


Stiles wakes on Monday with what she thinks guys would call a _major_ fucking hard-on. She doesn’t know what she dreamed about, but whatever it was has her underwear damp and her skin tingling in anticipation. She doesn’t even open her eyes before turning over and swinging her arm over the side of her bed to grab the vibrator hiding underneath it in a shoebox. It’s _that_ kind of need burrowing deep in her belly, the sharp zings of _now now now_ flying down her spine.

She moans even with just the pressure of the mattress against her as she thrusts her hips down while retrieving her toy. There’s no substantial pressure, nothing even on her clit, but fuck, the idea of it, of thrusting against something, drives her still half asleep mind reeling.

Stiles finally gets a grasp on her toy and rolls onto her back. She flings her underwear off, doesn’t bother with her shirt, and raises her legs to her chest. The blanket slips down and her naked lower half is on display. If she was more awake or thinking straight, she might give a shit, but as it is, she slides her right hand down to her mound and slips two fingers in to spread her slickness around her folds. She spits in her hand, rubs it down the vibrator, then teases it at her entrance until she’s moaning through clenched teeth, _god,_ she wants to get _fucked -_

The vibrator slips in and she slams her head against her pillow and swallows down a moan that might’ve been a touch too loud for a house that might not yet be empty. She presses the button once it’s inside her and Stiles lights up from the vibrations, toes flexing, throat convulsing.

Stiles comes in one minute, so fucking keyed up, so fucking ready, not even having to fuck it in and out of her, just lightly bumping her G spot again and again until she’s twitching and tightening around the vibrator, her legs closing on their own accord from the intensity and a groan releasing past her lips.

She’s frozen like that for a moment, vibrator still buzzing, though not against her clit cause that’d be too sensitive. It takes her a moment to breath out slowly and loosen her legs to spread outwards so she can slowly pull out the vibrator and turn it off.

Holy shit.

Whatever it was she was dreaming about must have been the dream she had throughout the entire night. Like she was teased for fucking hours, and was finally able to do something about it when she woke. Stiles stretches her body out and sighs. She’s certainly not against morning orgasms.

Her alarm for school goes off the next moment and she rolls her eyes. Of course something would ruin her afterglow.

* * *

  


Her and Scott have been best friends for too long to not have had sexy talks. Not as in they talk dirty to each other, just as in they’ve talked about sex and girls (for both of them) and guys (for Stiles). So Stiles doesn’t hold back and doesn’t think to be embarrassed when she meets Scott outside of school and says, “Dude. Guess what.”

“What?” he says around a mouthful of morning cheetos. Breakfast of champions.

“I had the fucking best orgasm this morning.”

Scott chokes on his cheetos, but it’s because he’s laughing so Stiles just smiles along with him.

“Congrats dude,” Scott roughly says around a cough. “Happy for you.”

“Me too,” Stiles giggles, still a bit high from it. “You know when you can’t remember a dream but you remember the _feeling_ of a dream?”

“You had a sexy dream?” Scott has continued eating his cheetos. The bell goes off for class and they automatically start heading for the doors.

“I’m sure I did. Unfortunately, I can’t remember a damn thing from it.” Stiles sighs forlornly. “I hope I have it again soon. It was _awesome.”_

Scott is laughing again, this time not choking on his breakfast. “I’ll pray for you.”

“Bless you,” Stiles smiles, holding a hand over her heart. “You’re my best friend. I love that you support my self love.”

“Ew. What?” someone says to Stiles’ left, and suddenly there’s Jackson and Isaac, disgusted and amused, respectively.

“Nunya business,” Stiles flaps a hand at them to go away. “We’re having friend talk.”

“You’re having a _fun_ talk.” Isaac has a shit eating grin as he breathes in deep. “Self love, huh?”

Stiles stops in her tracks, aghast. “You can smell that?” She whips to Scott. “Can you smell that?!”

Scott shrugs. “I can’t really, unless I get really close, which.” his nose wrinkles. “Ew. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Stiles says, dumbfounded. “Don’t ever get close to me again.” She turns back to Isaac. “Is it because your sniffer in sensitive?”

Isaac loses the look of amusement, and both Scott and Jackson snort quietly.

“I don’t know. Is it?” is all Isaac says before pivoting and leaving.

 _“Is it!?”_ Stiles yells across the hall. Isaac doesn’t even turn. She turns to ask Jackson, but he’s already started down a second hall.  

“I think it is,” Scott assures with a shoulder pat, which actually isn’t very assuring at all because he looks awkward about it.

“Thanks Scotty,” is all Stiles says, and she decides not to bring it up again for the rest of the day lest someone get _too close._

* * *

 

That night, while she’s doing homework at her desk and attempting not to space out so often so she can actually get it done, her belly clenches the tiniest bit and tingles erupt across her skin.

Despite her attempt not to day dream, she finds herself thinking of the dream or lack thereof, what it could have possibly been about. It was someone fucking her, that much is obvious. She wonders who. She wonders _how,_ too, cause god it had been good in her dreams and she’ll certainly want to try it as some point in reality to see if her imagination holds up. Was she riding them? Were they fucking her down into a mattress, or couch, or floor?

Stiles’ thighs rub together lightly and she knows her face is flush. She chews on her pen for a moment, eyes glazed in the direction of her wall as she contemplates masturbating again. She glances at the time, one thirty AM, she glances at her homework, still unfinished, then clenches her thighs together with a high sigh.

She should just go to bed and avoid the decision. With either one she’ll be a bit disappointed in herself. She can finish her homework in the morning, anyway.

* * *

  


Stiles is burning again the next morning. Not as much as the previous morning, but enough that she finds herself on her tummy, thrusting into her own hand when she finally wakes up. She groans low and immediately gets to her knees, face still smashed into her pillow, her left hand coming up to cup her breast and tease her nipples. Her right hand stays between her legs, but she slips her fingers beneath the fabric of her underwear and grazes between her folds to spread her wetness. She glides some up to her clit and rubs lightly to start with.

The blanket stays over her body this time so she’s encased in her own cocoon of pleasure. She switches her left hand periodically from her breasts to sliding down her tummy, then back up in a tease of light touches that helps the desire build in her lower stomach. As her right hand quickens its pace over her clit, short and fast with the pad of her two fingers with random dips into her pussy to wet her fingers, her left hand gets more rough over her skin, her fingers gripping her nipples and twisting harshly, her nails digging into her skin as she slides them down her chest and stomach.

Because her face is in her pillow, she’s not trying as hard to stop the moans erupting from her throat. When the pace was slower she allowed a rhythmic “Oh, oh, _oh,”_ to fuel her urgency. Now, though, her fingers are rubbing intensely over her clit and her hips are undulating into her fingers despite there being nothing to grind into, she can’t help it, she can’t help the flex of her thighs and the rise and fall of her hips into her own hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck _fuck,”_ falls from her mouth and she’s fucking desperate for it, rubbing her clit so hard now that it almost hurts but she doesn’t fucking care she just needs to fucking come -

And her cunt spasms, wanting something inside of it, and her stomach tightens when her “Fuck, _fuck -”_ becomes “Fuck me, _fuck me -!”_

Stiles comes, two fingers abusing her left nipple, two fingers rubbing mercilessly on her clit until the waves are over and sparks erupt behind her eyelids and down her back to her toes. She’s gasping into her pillow and her wrist hurts too much to work herself over anymore, so it drops to the bed with a _flop_ because she’s still on her knees and can’t get herself to lower back to the mattress yet.  

After a moment she groans loudly into her pillow. God, this is ridiculous. Two mornings in a row where she’s fucking gagging for it.

Her alarm goes off for school. She groans again and flops fully onto her mattress.

* * *

  


She doesn’t mention it to Scott the next day to hopefully avoid another sniffer talk, but Isaac stares her down at the lunch table with a knowing smirk and a blush blooms across her cheeks. She throws a couple french fries at his face which he smacks down to the table, and mostly from that she just feels sad she wasted some fries.

“Starting a food fight?” Boyd asks from beside Isaac.

“No.” Lydia sets her tray on the table. “If any of you ruin my clothes I will personally castrate you.”

Stiles raises her hand. “First problem with that -”

Lydia glares. “I’ll find a way.”

Stiles lowers her hand.

Isaac doesn’t _say_ anything, but she’s gotta admit that his smirk gets to her more than what he could possibly say. It leads to her cornering him near the end of school when they’re on their way to the field. She doesn’t care about being embarrassed anymore - she just needs to _know._

“I know that you guys have better senses, that some are more sensitive to it than others, i.e. _you,_ but does that really mean anyone can tell when someone masturbates or has sex? Is there a _smell?”_

“Hello to you, too.” Isaac drones.

“Yeah, hi.” Stiles knocks her lacrosse stick against the wall as she talks. “You gotta tell me dude, because if there’s anything I can do to not have you guys smell when I, like, _do stuff,_ that’d be fantastic. I’m sure it’s awkward for you, too.”

For most of Stiles talking at him, Isaac looks slightly amused alongside a gallon-full of boredom. But on the mention of awkwardness, his face pinches and he reluctantly nods. “Yeeaahh. Listen, Stiles.” He breathes in to speak, then just breathes out a tired sigh. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Stiles grunts with an eye roll. _“Right.”_

“No, seriously, you don’t.” He breathes in through his teeth and can’t quite look at Stiles. “Because of our sensitive smelling, hearing, whatever, there’s some shit that we just have to...get used to, you know? People don’t suddenly stop having sex or...or stop using the bathroom just because it’s amplified for us. We haven’t stopped having conversations in other rooms or eating different foods. We know more about each other than what we were all comfortable with at the beginning, but - ugh, like, I’ve _heard_ Boyd and Erica having sex, but it’s not like they’re trying to throw it in our faces. They’re doing it at night on a different floor of the house, nothing crazy. We can’t help that we... _know._ So it’s like, whatever. We all masturbate. It’s normal.”

Stiles glares steadily at Isaac and he finally really looks at her. “I’m _serious._ I just liked fucking with you.”

“I don’t hear a sorry in there.”

He smirks. “I’m not. And I’ll probably waggle my eyebrows at you a few times. Two mornings in a row? That’s more than usual for you.”

She smacks him upside the head as he bursts out laughing. “Shut _up.”_

“Okay, okay.” He jumps away from more of her smacks. Stiles huffs and speeds past him to get to practice.

Despite how annoying he is, she’s glad she asked. That did actually make her feel a bit better.

But embarrassment bombards her body that night when a thought barrels through her skull.

 _The pack has smelled her._ They’ve known when she’s…

She slides out of her chair in full-bodied embarrassment, all of her skin red. She lays on the ground for a good five minutes before she can pull herself to bed.

Fuck.

* * *

 

The next morning, she - _fuck, fuck, fuck._

She comes in under a minute, two of her fingers as deep as they can go inside of her cunt, holding one of her legs to her chest for easier access. She didn’t even have the patience to grab her vibrator.

Wow.

She’s gasping at her ceiling, still half asleep, and a thought occurs to her that maybe this is more ridiculous than is considered normal.

She shakes it off though. Sure, they’ve seen and dealt with some shit, but just because she’s more horny than usual doesn’t mean that it’s supernatural related. It’s only been three days, anyway, or she guesses three mornings.

It’s fine.

* * *

  


The fourth morning Stiles is able to take care of herself more slowly than the other mornings, grazing her fingers all across her stomach and breasts in a more thorough tease than her mysterious dreams. She’s clenching around her vibrator is her second satisfying orgasm when her alarm for school goes off. She doesn’t move to turn if off for a full minute because of the beautiful buzz across her skin.

* * *

  


Friday morning she comes with a frenzy, nothing inside of her, but her fingers are rubbing her clit furiously, reminiscent to the first morning she was desperate to come. She’s biting her thumb so hard that she’ll for sure have indents of her teeth dug into her skin for most of the day. Her orgasm is fierce enough that she arches off of the bed and is left whimpering into her skin even after she stops twitching.

The consistency of her desperation is finally getting to her, but what really puts her over the edge from _maybe-this-is-weird_ into _this-is-weird-it’s-super-weird,_ is when she’s in an afternoon class and her thighs are slowly rubbing together without her notice, her teeth are around where she bit her thumb that morning, and an image comes unbidden of Boyd, who’s sitting in front to the right of her in this class, pounding her into the teacher’s desk hard enough to drop the computer to the ground, scrape the desk legs across the floor, leave bruises on her hips and lose feeling in her toes -

Stiles comes back to herself as if breaking through water, suddenly and viscerally aware that she’s in her _fucking classroom,_ surrounded by students, flushing and fucking _wet,_ oh, and also, _daydreaming about fucking a pack mate who’s in a relationship._

She drops her stupid hand to her desk and clenches her fingers together to keep them from going places she doesn’t approve of. She resolutely avoids looking at Boyd, feels so guilty and ashamed even though, god, she’s never thought of him like that before, she’s never wanted someone in a relationship before, _what the fuck is wrong with her -_

Her stomach clenches and she clenches her teeth together in response. She crosses her legs to hopefully quiet the need to slip her fingers down her jeans, _quietly, no one will notice -_

It tightens the pressure across her mound and she sighs harshly through her nose, frustrated in more ways than one. Her fingers twitch, but she keeps them on her desk.

Something is definitely up.

 

* * *

 

“Heeeyyy, Scott.” Stiles slips into step with him on the way out of school.

“Yeeeaaaahh?” He replies, side eyeing her. “Wait, before you start - is this something bad or good? You have a tone.”

She shrugs. “Honestly don’t know for sure, bud, but I’m worried about it.”

“Alright.” He shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “To your car!”

They drive out to a parking lot in front of Stiles’ favorite ice cream shop. Once they park, they unlatch their seatbelts and face each other in the seats.

“You’re masturbating a lot,” Scott blurts.

“I’ve been - whoa, yeah! How’d you -” she cringes. “Ew.”

“I’m sorry,” he’s absolutely red now, “It’s just - this whole week, and like, with the others I’m used to it but with you -”

“I’ve never done it this often!” Stiles enthuses and Scott nods fervently, leaning forward.

“It’s so weird!” he practically yells. “I mean, I’m sorry, I’m happy for you -”

“No, dude, rewind, I agree!” Stiles shifts to sit on her leg, leaning forward with waving hand motions. “I’m going _crazy,_ I was thinking I just happened to be more horny than usual but dude, you don’t even know, I - I -” she flounders for words and sputters consonants for a moment. “It’s just - I - _it’s a lot,”_ she finally settles on. “And I don’t think it’s natural.”

“Whoa, wait,” Scott sits up on his leg, too. “It’s that crazy?”

“It’s that crazy,” she breathes out. “Scott, you’re right, it’s more than usual, but all in all I’ve never felt the need more than a couple times a week, and even then, I never felt like I had to masturbate through it, it’s just kind of a - a _simmer_ for me, nothing necessary!” She runs her hands through her hair and is trying to ignore how much she’s blushing. “I - It hasn’t been just that I’m masturbating more often, it’s been that I _have to_ _masturbate._ Maybe - I mean, I don’t know, maybe my meds are finally kicking in a certain way -”

“Three years being on this dose?” Scott says in disbelief, brow raising.

“Or,” she glares at him, “maybe I’m going through a late puberty thing? Or something?”

“You eat more than you used to,” Scott suggests, but his face doesn’t look committed.

“I do,” and not even Stiles’ voice is completely convinced. They both pause, staring at each other awkwardly.

“Scott,” Stiles gulps, “I really _really_ don’t want this to be a supernatural thing. That means it’s - it’s like...effecting me.”

He nods slowly, chewing on his cheek. “There’s just...I mean, I know you pretty damn well, and it’s not like we haven’t talked about this before, and we’ve known each other for years, and -”

“Spit it out, Scotty.”

“I don’t think this is normal,” Scott finally says. “I’m sorry. You’re - you’ve never really been an actively sexual person. Like, obviously, you are, sometimes -”

“Rarely,” Stiles slips in.

“And you’re interested in it, generally -”

“Well, _yeah.”_

“But, like - well. If you’re saying that it’s worrying you, and me knowing you for so long I can definitely agree that it’s odd to smell you like this _every day,”_ he breathes out harshly and swallows hard. “It’s - it’s pretty strong, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Oh, I know.” Stiles breathes out shakily. “Is it like...is it that you smell me being horny, or do you actually smell that I’ve…”

“I smell...it smells…” he struggles for a good half a minute until he sighs awkwardly and says, “it smells like _want.”_

“So…” Stiles ventures. “...horniness?”

“I guess,” Scott shrugs. “I can’t...I don’t know, I can’t put it into words. But that’s close enough.”

“Eugh.”

“Agreed.”

They stare at each other for a moment then Scott clears his throat.

“So...what do you want to do?”

“I…” she sighs, shifting in her seat. “I don't know. It's just - it sounds so stupid, right?” She shrugs at Scott and interrupts what he's about to say. “Hey guys, I've been really horny lately! What up with that?” She feels face burning even just from the thought of it, of saying anything like that in front of the pack.

“Uhm,” Scott starts, then shrugs with her. “Yeah, I can get that.”

“It's only been a week,” she says more quietly.

“Yeah, I guess.” He chews on his cheek again. “But it's still a little weird.”

“ _We_ know that because of how long we've known each other. But saying to the others that a teenager is really horny and it might be a problem? I don't know, dude. I can't fathom that conversation going somewhere that doesn't involve me bursting into flames.”

“Hm.” Scott looks to the ceiling of the car, to the seats, then back to her. “So...you don't really wanna do anything about it, then?”

She hesitates. “Not...yet.”

“Why mention it at all yet?”

“I just...wanna make sure I'm not crazy, you know?”

He nods slowly then sighs. “Alright. I'm worried, though. Putting it out there.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

“If it goes on for another week, we gotta tell _someone._ If not the whole pack, maybe Deaton?”

Stikes rocks back and forth in her seat, considering. Scott starts her down more intensely as the seconds tick by.

She blows a raspberry. _“Fine.”_

He beams out a smile. “Cool. I mean, we’ve seen a lot of shit, you know? I’d rather be careful than realize too late that something might be hurting you.”

“Well it doesn’t _hurt,”_ Stiles smirks, and Scott rolls his eyes.

“Ice cream?” He looks to the double doors of the building in front of them.

Stiles beams.


	2. Desperate Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The self love continues, a little desperately.

Saturday starts with Stiles’ on her stomach, fingers up her cunt again, and she just groans into the pillows and starts working herself over. It takes a little longer than the other mornings and she takes that in stride, touching herself slowly with her free hand and lightly rubbing her fingers into her G spot so that little sparks shoot across her spine in tandem with her fingers, and her stomach tightens and spasms periodically. Her wrist starts to ache from the unfortunate angle of having her fingers so deep inside of her (bless her long and bony fillanges), but she feels too lazy to grab her vibrator, so she removes her fingers and just focuses on her clit. 

The need to come burns like a boiling simmer underneath her skin and she can’t help whimpering into her pillow with every pinch she gives to her nipples. She slides her free hand all across her skin, breasts to stomach, even dragging her nails down her neck hard enough to leave a red mark that’ll fade. She’s there, she knows she’s so close, and her finger on her clit is working faster and faster, and she widens her legs and lifts her hips, whimpering, whimpering, and for a sudden desperate moment she imagines it’s someone else’s hands, she imagines she’s lifting her hips so they can thrust inside her -

She comes with a soft but long gasp into her pillow. She stretches across her blankets languidly and sighs. She feels  _ nice.  _

After a moment of lazing she gets out of bed for the day. There’s a pack meeting at two. Stiles checks her phone and it’s...nine a.m.? What the fuck? 

She doesn’t feel tired though, so she’s a little sad that she missed out on sleeping in on a weekend. It’s a little irritating that she has nothing to blame but her own fingers. 

She leaves her room and heads down the stairs to get something to eat. Her dad is in the kitchen, which is a pleasant surprise, and he’s staring at the coffee maker slowly brewing a pot with the desperation of a man with only an hour of sleep. 

“Rough night?” Stiles asks as she walks to the fridge. 

He startles so badly that if the coffee maker were closer, he may have upset the pot. “Stiles? You’re awake?” 

“I would be insulted by how surprised you are, but I’m actually surprised, too.” She smiles and takes out some eggs. “I just woke up suddenly and don’t feel tired enough to fall asleep again.”

“You do seem chipper,” he notices groggily. Stiles tries not to blush and resolutely remembers that her dad doesn’t have a super sniffer. 

She just shrugs. “Eggs?” 

Her dad glances at his watch and nods slowly. “Yeah. I got time.” 

So she makes them eggs as her dad transfers himself to the kitchen table to continue staring at the coffee pot like it’s God back on earth. When it beeps its completion, he sidles up to the cupboards and grabs himself a cup. “Want any?” 

“Is there enough?” 

“We can always make another pot.” He’s already grabbing another cup.

“Cool. Yeah, I’ll take some.” She pours the scrambled eggs into a hot frying pan and watches them sizzle. He hands her a cup and it’s mostly creamer rather than coffee, which is how she prefers. Too much caffeine makes her twitchy but a cup can be soothing once in a while. 

He sits back at the table and Stiles adds some shredded cheese into the frying pan and flips it all together. She grabs plates when it’s done and serves it at the table. 

They sit and eat in a pleasant silence. Stiles doesn’t feel the need to fill it since they’re both stuffing their faces with coffee and eggs. She doesn’t even get a chance to, since her dad checks his watch and starts to stand. “Gotta go.”

“Do you have, like, a sixth sense or something?” Stiles asks around a mouthful of egg. 

“Pretty much,” her dad smiles. He’s looking substantially more awake. “I’ll see you later, kiddo. Thanks for breakfast.” He comes around the table and ruffles her hair. “This was nice.” 

He grabs his jacket and yells bye one more time as he closes the door. Stiles stares at her plate for a moment, chewing slowly. It  _ was _ nice. Maybe she should wake up early more often. They don’t have the chance to do this a lot. 

She laughs at the thought. God, she can’t imagine waking up this early  _ often.  _ What is she supposed to do this early in the day? She’s forgotten what mornings are like for the world when she’s not going to school. Usually on the weekend she wakes up around noon, and she knows she’s not the only one. That’s why their pack meetings are usually later in the day. 

She finishes breakfast and takes a look around the kitchen with a sigh. 

She guesses...she’ll do laundry? 

...Sure. 

* * *

  
  


She does do laundry, but it’s actually a quicker process than she thought, compared to all the times she had to do it when she didn’t want to. In those times, it takes  _ forever. _ But as it is, she’s stuck waiting around now for the first load to be finished. 

She thinks for a second about cleaning something then resolutely decides that she doesn’t want a free day to be completely dedicated to  _ housekeeping. _ Blugh. So she starts up her playstation and gets into  _ DOOM. _

For the next four hours she goes back and forth between video games and laundry and it’s pretty awesome. She usually doesn’t have days like this until summer vacation. 

Close to two o’clock her body starts to tingle again. That’s something that’s new, too - kind of the awareness that she’s getting horny, or that she is, or - Stiles doesn’t know exactly but it’s almost like a bell that rings across the entirety of her skin, a ghost of an alert that lets her know she’s ready. Maybe that’s normal? It’s probably something she’s felt before, but now that she’s feeling it more often, it’s very...loud. 

She rolls her shoulders and sighs when she sees the time. She thinks about the pros and cons. Pros are that she won’t be sitting on it during the meeting, and it won’t be anything like that time in class. Cons are that the pack will probably smell it since it’s so close to meeting time. Well, actually, Scott said he can smell when she’s horny, so either way they’ll smell something, right? 

Her stomach clenches in need and she pauses the game and throws her controller down with an eye roll. 

She’ll take care of it. God knows she doesn’t want a repeat of the classroom situation.  _ Ugh.  _

She doesn’t bother going to her bed, she falls onto her back and slips her hand under her sweatpants and underwear. She slips her fingers past her clit and dips them inside herself to feel that she’s already wet. She glides the wetness up and slowly rubs her clit. Her head falls completely back against the ground and she sighs at the ceiling. 

Her hips are shifting up and down with the pleasure from her fingers. After a moment, she lifts her sleep shirt above her breasts and just holds one in the palm of her hand. She’s kind of teasing herself, she realizes, with the slow rub of her fingers and the tight clench around her breast. It’s just the  _ idea _ of what could come, and that itself makes her moan in anticipation. 

Seconds tick by and she’s gasping at her ceiling, eyes closed and focused on the pleasure. She squeezes her breast off and on but doesn’t focus on her nipples yet. Her wrist is aching again, probably because it already was this morning, so she slips one leg out of her sweatpants and underwear so that her wrist isn’t straining to move under the tightness of the waist bands. She spreads her legs wider and her toes flex off and on with how god it feels to stretch out. 

She realizes, as her finger moves faster, that she’s on the floor in her room, bedroom door wide open, curtain of her window slid open, afternoon light streaming onto her exposed breasts and lower body that anyone could see, anyone, as long as they came to the door or looked through her window, they’d see her - see her -

It doesn’t get her to orgasm but the  _ fucking thought _ of someone watching her please herself, creeping by the window, staring as she desperately rubs her clit - god, she rubs it faster and finally starts pulling at her nipples and arching her back, letting them see more, letting them have the perfect display -

And maybe they’re pleasuring themselves as they watch, gasping at the window, zipper pulled haphazardly down and fervently jacking off with the speed that she is, just as desperate, just as turned on - 

She moans unbidden at her ceiling and braces her feet on the ground. Her fingers press roughly against her clit in a tiny back and forth motion and she comes so fucking hard that her back raises from the ground, head thrown back and neck arching against a high and breathy moan, her hips digging into the ground just as hard as her fingers are still rubbing against her clit, extending the pleasure until she’s whimpering an “Ah, ah, ah,” at the ceiling from the almost painful aftershocks. 

When Stiles finally stops, she practically melts into the ground. Her sleep shirt is bundled under her chin. Her hand is dead weight on her mound. She’s trying to even her breathing while staring wide-eyed at her ceiling. 

_ Wow.  _ Wow, wow, wow. 

She’s kinky. 

She giggles at her ceiling.  _ God.  _ That was so fucking hot. She thinks that if someone ever was actually staring at her through the window she’d eviscerate them on the spot, but - fuck. The daydream of it certainly sent her over the edge. 

She stretches her arms over and up and they tingle as if they lost feeling. Her legs extend outward and she flexes her toes with a long sigh, feeling incredibly satisfied. 

She gets a text that she ignores in favor of blinking slowly at her ceiling. It’s when her phone starts ringing that she realizes she may have lost track of time. 

Instead of answering Scott’s call, she rejects it and sends a quick message.  _ I’ll be there in thirty, sorry!!!!!!!! _

Then she untangles herself from her pajamas and runs to her bathroom for the quickest shower of her life, because there’s no way she’s going to the meeting after  _ that _ and not wiping herself down. As she showers, she slips her fingers inside her sunt in curiosity, and gasps from how wet she is. It makes her stomach tighten in excitement, and she quickly pulls her fingers out before it can lead anywhere. 

She dries herself off in a daze, dresses in a daze, then tried to pull herself together on the drive to the house. Stiles has got this.  _ She’s got this. _ It won’t be weird, she won’t make it weird. They don’t know she’s late because she was masturbating. It’s  _ fine.  _

And even if they do know, it’s still fine! Because Isaac said it’s normal, this is a  _ normal thing.  _ Masturbating is healthy. She’s healthy! 

Stiles parks haphazardly on the lot and runs up to the door. It’s unlocked so she rushes in and heads straight to the living room, where everyone turns their head when she’s at the threshold and stares right at her. 

She blushes.

“Now that we’re all here,” Derek says with something close to a glare, but not necessarily anger. She’s thirty minutes late, she gets it. Stiles jumps over Jackson’s legs to quickly have a seat on the ground next to Scott, back against the couch. “We can start.” 

It’s a pretty boring catch-up, if Stiles is being honest. Nothing insane is happening, no infiltrators to speak of. Derek gives the floor to the pack mostly, just to see if anyone has anything to say or something that they’ve noticed and are worried about. 

Scott stays blessedly silent, and she could kiss him. 

That unbidden thought send a spark down her spine and Stiles shifts uncomfortably where she’s sitting. That’s uh...no bueno. No thank you. 

Currently, Lydia and Erica are trying to convince everyone that their Chemistry teacher is a supernatural being or just selling drugs on the side. Or both.

“Mr Marx is  _ suspicious,”  _ Erica enthuses, and Lydia nods in agreement with every fact Erica states. “I’ve watched him clean up after classes and he’s super shifty, and always wears those huge thick sweaters and keeps the windows wide open like he needs an excuse to. Like, dude, come on, it’s freezing,” she throws her hands up. “I seriously think he’s stealing class materials and hiding it in the jacket pockets until he can get it to his car, or something.”

“And,” Lydia interjects, “Both of us just have bad feeling when we’re around him.”

“Whenever he comes to our table to check our work, we both agreed, it’s like...we feel  _ uncomfortable.” _

“Maybe he’s just super creepy,” Isaac suggests. “Some guys can’t control their ick-factor.”

Both Lydia and Erica shake their heads. “No, he looks - uh - decent, I guess,” Erica shrugs. “It’s his  _ energy. _ I just - I hate when he’s close. It makes me feel sguidgy.” 

“Sguidgy?” Derek repeats, brow raised. 

“I get you,” Stiles pipes up. “Like a shiver when you’re cold, but it’s because you’re disgusted.” 

“Yes,” Lydia agrees, and Stiles smiles and highfives herself. Lydia continues speaking after rolling her eyes. “He’s disgusting. But it’s not anything we can tell that’s obvious. It’s just the feeling we get from him. Our intuition. In looks, he’s actually incredibly put together despite the size of his jacket.” 

“Maybe you’re feeling his intentions,” Derek says, staring hard at the table, deep in thought. He looks back at the girls. “Whether or not he’s supernatural, there’s obviously something odd about him. We have better senses overall as werewolves, so it’s not something to take lightly if you don’t feel safe around him. Erica, don’t investigate on your own anymore, especially since we’re not sure yet if he’s only human. I’ll ask Deaton if he’s noticed anything odd that might require chemistry equipment. Stiles,” she perks up and smiles. “Listen around and see if you’re dad is dealing with anything involving the same. That should help us find out if he’s making drugs.” He looks around the room to everyone. “Don’t be alone with him. Both of you let everyone know what he looks like so that if he tries talking to anyone, they can know to avoid him.”

“Oh, you can’t miss him.” Erica drolls. “The jacket he wears is a brown and yellow plaid. Two sizes too big for him, I think,” and she glances at Lydia, who nods. “Yep. Fucking weirdo.” 

“Alright then. Anything else?” 

Silence stretches and Derek nods. “Alright, then. Is anyone hungry?” 

Mostly everyone raises their hands in excitement. 

* * *

  
  


Stiles wouldn’t say that the pack meeting was a failure, because her worst fears weren’t realized in that the entire pack looked at her, breathed in and screamed  _ ‘You masturbated!!!!’ _ So she’s happy about that, at least. There was a moment where Isaac reached over her to grab another slice of pizza and he paused to waggle his eyebrows at her, which she took in stride and elbowed him in the side  _ just a little bit.  _

She wouldn’t exactly call it a success, either. Inappropriate thoughts kept bombarding her throughout the afternoon, and she kept staring at peoples’ hands and having to shake herself from her thoughts. At one point Scott nudged her in the side, a curious expression on his face, and she had just been spacing out, thinking about how his body has developed over time, wondering what it would feel like over her own, and after his nudge she choked on her pizza and drank half a waterbottle down before she could breathe again. She shrugged up to her ears when she finally looked at him, and he glanced over the redness of her face and could tell he was keeping a comment in. But he just tightened his lips and went back to his own food. 

“Are you okay?” Allison asks, and  _ jesus _ Stiles is a bitch. 

“I’m fine.” Stiles takes the offered napkin from Allison. “Thanks.” 

Her body starts tingling as the hour ticks by, and she resolutely ignores it. The others are talking around her, and she pretends she’s focused on the movie. What movie? She doesn’t know. She just stares and stuffs her face with pizza and randomly laughs at some conversation points around her so that she doesn’t seem completely out of the loop. 

She shifts herself again with a sigh and drinks half of her sprite can. A hand touches her back, and her tummy lights up in excitement. 

It has to be Scott. Boyd is on the other end of the couch, and her and Scott are still sitting on the floor at the opposite end. Allison is deep in conversation with Lydia, and Scott himself is nodding along to something Isaac is droning about, but his hand is rubbing up and down her spine slowly, as if he’s comforting her. It’s not - not something that Scott does very often. If she ever gets bad cramps while they’re hanging out, sometimes he does rub her back, but usually she prefers him  _ not _ to. She’d rather take a shitton of ibuprofen and deal with it than have it acknowledged. But for some reason she guess he thinks she needs this, and his hand is a slow swipe over her shirt across her back, hand fully flat and fingers extended and she can feel how  _ big _ his hands are. 

It’s when he flexes his fingers and his nails scratch downward that she flinches forward and turns to him, confused and, unfortunately, fucking aroused. She keeps her legs together tightly and ignores, ignores, ignores. 

“Scott,” she says quietly, and he turns to her.

“What’s up?” he asks with a smile, and she glances down at his arm that’s still behind her, because even though she leaned forward, his hand followed and is now just resting there, thumb shifting back and forth. 

He follows her eyeline and his eyes boggle out, as if he’s surprised to see it there. “Sorry,” he says quickly, and takes his arm back and looks at it as if it insulted him. “Won’t do that.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, and she  _ really _ wants to ask if he even realized he was doing it, but - 

“Everything okay?” Isaac interjects, and both Scott and Stiles say “Fine,” at the same time, which is more suspicious than anything. 

He stares at them both closely and hums loudly. “Ooooookaaaaaaay.” 

“Yep,” Stiles agrees with a fake smile, “Okay.” 

For the rest of the afternoon, Scott keeps his arm to himself, and his hand is clenched onto his ankle. 

* * *

  
  


Stiles has blinders the size of Texas, so she’s pretty damn good at ignoring the pulse inside of her for the next two hours. When she’s finally home, though, her dad still isn’t, so she rushes to her room and slams the door shut. 

She unzips her jacket, toes off her shoes and practically falls to her knees at the edge of her bed and dives for her vibrator. It accidentally turns on in her fervency and the vibrations light her up even more, makes her start shaking in need. 

She throws the vibrator onto the bed without turning it off, listens to the buzz as she rips her clothes off and jumps onto her blankets. She crawls up to it, suddenly and desperately wants to tongue it like it’s a cock, but it’s thumb size in thickness and only about three inches long, purely for vibrations and not at all phallic-like, so she just moans from the desire and grabs it in her hand. 

She stays on her hands and knees, lowers her head to the bed and raised her ass. The vibrator slips inside of her so easily and she moans then bites down on her blanket as she tries to shift the vibrator inside of her to hit where it’ll feel  _ fantastic.  _ She can’t get the right angle, though, with her arm underneath her between her legs, so she grunts in frustration and takes it out, then winds her arm around her back to try and do it from behind. She needs to lift her chest to reach far enough, so she drops the blanket from her mouth and gasps at her wall, holding herself up with only one shaking arm, and finally finds her hole and slips the vibrator inside again. 

And she  _ hits it, _ it’s right fucking there, holy shit,  _ yes, yes -  _

But it doesn’t happen every thrust and the position has her whole body tense and aching in a hurt way. She can’t keep her back flexed that low and her arm strained that far behind her for too long, and her arm is already ready to give out. 

She groans again in frustration, but it comes out more like a sob, and she pulls the vibrator out again and brings her arm back to the bed to catch herself before she falls. She drops the vibrator and rubs her clit with her left hand, the one that was keeping her up, but she has less control over her left hand than her right, so it’s just a building dam of frustration that she’s fueling and - 

She slams her left hand onto the bed and gets up on her knees and shifts forward until she’s close to her wall. She fumbles for the vibrator and sits up, left hand braced on her wall, right hand slipping the vibrator into her cunt and - 

“Fuuuck,  _ fuck, fuck, yes,”  _ she moans, finally decently able to hit just the right angle. She thrusts it inside of her quickly and moans and moans. Her hips start meeting the thrusts half way and  _ fuck, _ that feels even better, what the fuck -

She pulls the vibrator out and reaches her arm around to enter herself from behind, then holds the base of her vibrator against the bed so that she can thrust onto it securely. She tries a couple lifts and falls, finds the right angle for her hips to drop down, then fucking rides it the best she can so it’s  _ hitting, hitting, hitting,  _ exactly where she needs it, not as hard as she wants it to, but hard enough, and not as rough as she wants it to, but -

She takes her left hand away from the wall and she sways for a moment, but with a perfectly timed thigh flex she’s abe to stay steady and still bounce down onto the vibrator while using her left hand to pinch and twist her nipples, making it  _ rougher, _ making it - 

The breast she isn’t pinching bounces from her force and it makes her feel dirty, makes her feel  _ sexy, _ god, oh god, oh god -

She’s trying to get as much of the vibrator into her as she can, so much so that she’s practically grinding into her blankets, her right hand trapped under her cunt with every bounce and fingers desperately trying to keep hold of the base of it because she’s so wet that she’s dripping and her fingers are slipping. She doesn’t know how loud she’s moaning, but what she’s saying adds to the bursts of pleasure deep in her gut and cunt. It’s as if she’s hearing it from the outside, the  _ “Oh god, god, yes, please, oh, oh, OH,”  _ so loud and desperate, as if she’s listening to someone getting fucked and they’re fucking loving it, and she wants it to be  _ her, _ god fucking damnit, she wants to get  _ fucked, _ hard,  _ good - _

_ “Ah, ah, ah, ahhh,” _ She whines, and she can tell her legs are shaking so badly, she’s getting tired, she needs to come, she needs to come - 

“Please,” she moans, “Fuck, please, please, fuck, please, fuck me, fuck me, please,  _ fuck me, fuck me -”  _

And she’s yelling by the end of it and she’s so overwhelmed, so fucking turned on, her orgasm is a punch to the gut, something from deep inside, she rides through it but falls forward too quickly, fuck, fuck, she wanted to fuck through it,  _ fuck.  _

The vibrator fell out of her and the sound is loud alongside her gasping breaths. Her hands caught her before she could faceplant against her bed, and her head is deadweight between her shoulders. Her whole body is still shaking as if she’s still coming, but she knows that it’s over, despite the tingles across her skin. 

She stretches her back and flexes her toes and moans from the feel of her body. Her thighs burn. She’s going to feel this later.

Despite all that, despite the urgency and how intense it was, she doesn’t feel  _ satisfied.  _ There were too many things she wanted and didn’t have. 

She thinks she may have to invest in a dildo. God, if she’d been riding that -

Her stomach clenches and she whimpers, biting her lip.  _ God.  _

She sighs, kind of let down, and sits up again. She gets a bit light headed for a second, which makes her laugh at the absurdity, and takes a moment to catch her breath again. 

She stares down at the vibrator still buzzing on her blanket, feeling a bit betrayed. 

She shuts it off. 

* * *

  
  


At some time of the night - she doesn’t know, it’s just dark, dark all around, it doesn’t matter - she wakes up and slides her hand down her stomach and under her underwear and starts rubbing her clit, humping into her hand, raising her knees up to her chest and just  _ rub, rub, rubbing _ roughly and a bit painfully until she comes hard enough for her to forget that someone might be home. She moans loud and long into her empty bedroom.  

Then she falls asleep. 

* * *

  
  


Stiles wakes up the next morning, whimpers into her arm that she’s apparently biting into, and slips two of her fingers into herself. 

She comes in under a minute, but the buzz continues, so she removes her fingers and starts rubbing her clit, slowly at first since she’s still sensitive, but then faster, and faster, and she doesn’t bother moving her free arm to touch her breasts,  _ she’s so fucking ready - _

She comes a second time and groans around the skin between her teeth. She takes a steadying breath in and flops her arm to the bed for the breath out. 

“Oh my god,” she whispers to her ceiling. Her fingers twitch, still on her clit, and her whole body twitches along with them. She slips her fingers lower to her opening and grazes her fingertips through the wetness, marveling at it, spreading it around while she thinks. 

This is fucking crazy. There’s no - there’s no  _ reason _ for this that she can think of. Her meds are the same. Her eating habits have gotten better, but that’s been consistent enough across the timeframe of  _ months, _ nothing having changed in just the past couple weeks to effect her like this. She isn’t necessarily obsessing over a particular person - well, okay, she’s surrounded by attractive people every day, she can’t help but notice that, and - and Derek is just a whole other entity of weird feelings and tummy-clenching nighttime thoughts, but  _ that’s _ nothing new either! 

So that - that means that -  _ ugh. _ No. 

She can’t -  _ no.  _

It has to be something normal. She’ll have a doctors visit. Yeah! She’ll just ask them to test her hormone levels, see if something suddenly spiked, or, or something, and - 

She just really doesn’t want this to be the work of magic, or a pixie, or some fucking magical curly fry she  _ happened _ to eat last week. Cause what’s the solution to magical problems? Uh, yeah, usually death and blood and  _ gross stuff.  _

All of the problems that have come up for them have ended in some sort of bloodshed and pain. She thinks about the basement, and Gerard, and his general disregard in hurting anyone, werewolf, human,  _ her.  _

She swallows down a sniffle but can feel tears gathering in her eyes. 

Stiles is scared. Okay? She is. And it’s a weird problem to have to want to masturbate all the fucking time, and she guesses this frequency might be normal for others, but - but she doesn’t know, not for sure, because this isn’t  _ her. _ She realizes it doesn’t matter what’s normal for other girls. She went from  _ maybe _ pleasuring herself a couple times a week to having, what,  _ ten  _ orgasms in the span of one? And almost crying out of frustration? 

Yeah, that’s not normal. Not for her. 

Desire is building in the base of her spine again. Even scared, even worried, her fingers went from lazy grazing into light thrusting, and she brings her legs back up so she can crook her fingers inside of herself again, hitting the spot and closing her eyes in bliss. 

She fingers herself until she comes, so wet that it’s leaking down her ass. Afterwards she stares at her ceiling, gasping, and a little angry at herself. 

She slips her fingers out of herself and jumps out of her bed. No more. She won’t masturbate  _ any more.  _ This is ridiculous, and until she gets answers, she’ll live by the masturbation schedule she had  _ before _ her pussy started demanding attention. 

She grabs her phone and calls her doctors office. She’ll make an appointment, and then she’ll…

Ugh. She’ll talk to Deaton. She guesses. Maybe. Yes, she’ll do it. Later, though, cause - uh. She’s busy making a doctors’ appointment. It’ll take all day. It’s tiring. 

“Hi! I’d, uh, like to make an appointment. For this week if anything is available.” 

Her gut clenches in after-orgasm pleasure. 

“As soon as possible. Please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're still enjoying! See you next time :)


	3. Locker Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It builds and - oops.

Stiles won’t. She won’t, she won’t,  _ she won’t.  _

She ignores the desire over lunchtime. It’s fine. 

It builds into an itch two hours later, but it’s  _ fine.  _

By evening, it’s an ache, one that she wiggles against while sitting at her desk chair. She keeps spacing out, thinking about hands, and dicks, uncut or cut, it doesn’t fucking matter, and how wet she is, but  _ she won’t, she won’t, she won’t.  _

She manages to fall asleep, her entire body buzzing a consistent buzz of  _ want,  _ but god dammit,  _ she didn’t, _ and she’s taking it as a win despite the aching of her cunt.

 

* * *

  
  


Stiles wakes up because she’s having an orgasm. 

Stiles.  _ Wakes up. _ Because she’s  _ having an orgasm.  _

Her right hand is over her clit, the heel of it digging into her roughly, and her left hand is squeezing over her breast, her nipple trapped between two of her fingers. 

She stares at the ceiling in utter shock as her tummy twitches. Her heart is beating a mile a minute. 

She doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep. Morning light is showing through her curtains. She just stares at her ceiling and contemplates life until her school alarm goes off. 

 

* * *

 

“Whooooa.” Scott looks her up and down. “Rough night?”

Stiles breathes in slowly and breathes out even slower. 

“Alright,” Scott nods, and they walk together into school. 

Stiles is trading out books from her locker when Jackson and Isaac come down the hallway and stop beside her and Scott. 

“Whoa,” Jackson comments. “Someone’s miffed.” 

Frustration is a ball of temper inside of Stiles at the moment. Despite waking up to a fucking orgasm, all she wants to do is keep touching herself, or have someone else touch her, or fucking grind against the railing outside  _ she doesn’t know, _ just fucking  _ anything - _

Alongside the worry and fear of the settlement inside herself that something is definitely going on with her, right now she just fucking can’t -

But thankfully she has a plethora of experiences in dealing with Jackson’s doucheness, so for now she sucks in a breath, rolls her eyes and shoves two of her books in her locker with too much strength than is warranted. 

“Dude,” and Stiles can see that Scott is shaking his head, but Isaac doesn’t see, because Isaac leans in close with a teasing smile and says quietly, “Which seems odd to me, since it seems that  _ someone’s _ had a fun mor -” 

Stiles slams her locker door shut in actual fury and invades Isaac’s space to seethe, “Not. Now.” He’s so startled that he doesn’t say or do anything else, and she grabs her bag from the ground and leaves all three of them behind to speed-walk to class.

_ Fucking _ Isaac. She gets it, he finds it funny. She probably would too, honestly, if it hadn’t been such a strange weekend and morning and _ week.  _

She’ll apologize later. Right now she just needs to make sure her fingers stay in acceptable places during class.

 

* * *

  
  


It’s a bit - uhm - all consuming. 

Stiles isn’t exactly thinking straight, she thinks. She’s been spacing out. People have had to snap her out of it more than once, mostly Scott, since everyone knows she’s not having a great day because of her little outburst this morning. Scott looks progressively more worried throughout the day, which makes everyone else a little worried, which makes Stiles want to roll her eyes because it’s so silly that this is happening because she’s horny, but deep down, Stiles is a little glad because she may be a little worried about herself, too, more than she was before.

Mostly because it’s, like -  _ hot. _ It’s really hot. Not sexy hot, but temperature, and by her third class she has her jacket off and there’s sweat by her hairline. She fans herself between classes but has managed to resolutely keep her hands above her desk during classes. Her thighs twitch underneath, though, and her breathing may be a little unsteady. 

During lunch she keeps her head on the table to try and cool off her forehead and avoid the odd staredown that Isaac is giving her. He looks confused and curious, which are both things that Stiles doesn’t want to deal with right now. Scott gets her water, which she downs, staring at her own fingers around the bottle, imagining she’s sucking a cock -

She slams the bottle onto the table and closes it. “Thanks,” she says to Scott. 

“Do you want anything?” He asks quietly. A whine comes unbidden from her throat and she coughs into her arm then drinks more of the water. Does she want anything. God. Her stomach clenches and she closes her eyes and crosses her legs against it. 

Scott accepts the lack of answer and doesn’t ask again. 

It’s a slow burn. One that she convinces herself all morning to lunch that she can handle.  _ She can handle this.  _ She’ll go home and take care of it and then it’ll be okay. She can get through a fucking school day, for sure. For  _ sure.  _

In her fifth class she’s still as a statue and can’t think of anything else but getting home and making it stop. She’ll touch herself. She can feel herself sweating. She’ll slip her fingers inside her cunt. Her heart beat is definitely faster. Fuck it, she’ll stop by a goddamn sex store on the way home if she has to. She’ll fuck herself on it. Hard. Fast. 

The school bell rings and it startles her out of her thoughts. Wait. School bell? Holy shit. She missed the  _ entire class.  _

She looks at her hands, still on the desk. Thank god. She notices, though, that her right hand has a bite mark around the thumb. Fuck, was she biting herself? 

She quickly gathers her things, flustered, flushed, and when she stands the fabric of her jeans rubs against her underwear and she stumbles a bit into the desk beside her. 

“Whoa, Stiles,” Erica says from behind her. “Are you okay?” She grabs Stiles’ backpack that fell and places it back over Stiles’ shoulder. Erica’s fingernails graze the back of Stiles’ neck and Stiles’ eyes almost roll to the back of her head, as if it was a tease,  _ oh god.  _

Erica breathes out harshly from behind Stiles. Then Stiles hears a deep breath in, and Erica places her hand on Stiles’ hip, her hand curving perfectly around Stiles’ hip bone. 

“Stiles,” Erica says softly, curiously, right at her ear, and Stiles  _ freaks.  _

“Gotta go!” Stiles yells and books it out of the fucking classroom, so fucking embarrassed and red and done with this, oh my god, Erica smelled her, she’ll know how she’s feeling,  _ fuuuuuuuuuuuck.  _ Thank _ god  _ they don’t share any other classes together. 

Stiles runs to the closest restroom and drops her bag beneath a sink. She turns it on and splashes water on her face to hopefully cool her down a bit. The cold feels amazing, and she can’t help but groan from the relief then glances around the bathroom to make sure no one heard her. She ducks down to check the stalls as well. No one. 

The bell for the next class rings. 

She’s alone. 

So much of her - practically all of her - wants to lock herself in a stall and rub her clit until she comes. 

It would be fast, too. God it would be quick. She probably wouldn’t even be more than ten minutes late to class. Wouldn’t even have to take off her jeans. Just slip her fingers down. Just do it. Do it. Do it. 

Her shoulder bumps into the stall wall and she reels back in surprise, having not even noticed that she was walking to a stall.  _ Ugh. _ Fuck this. 

She grabs her bag from the ground and looks at herself in the mirror. Less red than before, but definitely still having a ‘hard day’. Ha. 

She leaves the bathroom and heads to class. From now on, she’ll do something that takes brain cells to do so that she stops spacing out. She’ll draw. No. She’ll read ahead in class. No. 

She sneaks into her class and sits at the back. She rips a strip of paper out of her spiral notebook and folds it meticulously into a star. 

Yes. 

The last two of her classes are spent making exactly eighty three paper stars, leg bouncing restlessly under her desk, her thoughts back and forth between the awareness of her soaking underwear and the little stars beneath her hands. She drops them haphazardly into her backpack after each class and is proud of her distraction technique actually working. 

She doesn’t bother heading to her locker when the final bell rings. She starts out straight to the front doors of the school, ready to get this over with. 

“Stiles!” Someone yells behind her, and she almost starts crying. 

As it is, she groans in frustration and turns around, arms spread in irritation. “What!?” 

It’s Scott though, and he stops short at her tone. “Uh.”

“I’m sorry,” she says immediately, and drops her arms. “Sorry. It’s just. I’m just.” She flounders for words and - and jesus, she’s going to cry. 

Scott must realize this because he jumps forward to her and lightly holds her wrist so he can lead her down a hallway. “There’s practice today,” he says quietly. 

“Fuck,” she sniffles. 

“Hold on.” And she knows he’s leading her to the locker rooms, but he doesn’t leave her to go in the girls’ alone, and actually goes inside with her. 

“Perks of being the only girl on the team,” she tries to joke, but he doesn’t joke along with her, just sits her down on the bench where he knows her locker is. 

“Code?” 

“62-05-78.” 

He opens her locker for her and takes out her gym clothes. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” 

“I’m  _ so fucking horny,” _ she lets out, hugging her arms around her waist. “Dude, it’s like - I’m burning. It’s hot, I’m frustrated, I keep spacing out and thinking about sex or me or others, Scott, I keep thinking about doing the dirty with people I know -” 

Scott sets her clothes down on the bench to her right and sits on her left. “But Isaac was gonna say you -”

“I did!” Stiles almost yells, turning on the bench to face him.  _ “I did, _ on accident, I fucking woke up having an orgasm! And yesterday morning I came twice after having woken up in the middle of the night to rub one out again!” 

“Whooaa,” Scott says slowly, not knowing what to say. 

“Whoa is fucking right!” Stiles does yell this time. “So I said, hey, lets not do it! Lets not masturbate anymore, lets not give into temptation! So I didn’t masturbate for the rest of yesterday, and then this morning was a surprise big O, and -”

“So you’ve been keeping yourself from...from, uh, doing it?” 

“Yes! But -” Stiles stands and waves her hands around in distress. “It’s obviously not a good idea because I - I just -  _ AUGH!” _  She starts pacing in front of Scott, pulling at her hair. “Is this what it feels like when people are - just -”

“Really horny and don’t get relief?” Scott smiles through an awkwardly apologetic nod. “I mean, you’ve heard the stereotype of frustration when guys don’t masturbate, right? It sounds like that’s what you’re going through, just, uh - doubled?”

“Fucking tripled, more like it!” Stiles glares. “I’m losing time, Scott. I keep spacing out and - dude, I missed an entire class today because of it, and I had been biting my thumb without realizing!” She shows him her right thumb and he takes it in his hands. His brows raise in surprise. 

“Wow,” he says to the teeth indents. 

“I don’t even remember,” Stiles says woefully. 

“That’s intense.” His fingers massage into her hand in comfort and Stiles releases a sudden long sigh. It feels good.

“I think you’re right, dude.”

Scott glances up at her in question. She steps forward, motioning to herself with her free hand. “I think something’s going  _ on.”  _

“Ah,” he says softly and looks back down at her hand, running the tip of his thumb against the marks while still digging his fingers into the palm of her hand. “Yeah.”

She waits for more, but... “Scotty.” 

“Yes?” He looks back up. A spark shoots down her spine when they make eye contact. She forgets what she was going to say. 

“Uh,” she breathes out instead, and Scott’s right hand reaches out for her waist and grips her closer. He breathes in deeply as she steps closer and his eyes are blown wide. 

A door slams in the boys’ locker room on the other side of the wall and both of them flinch apart until they’re against opposite lockers, staring at each other in disturbed shock. 

Silence stretches until Scott says, “You’re going home. No practice.”

“Agreed,” Stiles says shakily. 

“Uh. Change into your clothes, though.” Scott starts walking sideways against the lockers, closer to the door. His face is red.

“Why?” Stiles looks him up and down and he swallows hard and looks away. 

“So you’re more comfortable. You’ve been sweating and...stuff. I’ll go tell coach you’re not feeling good. Just, uh...wait here until practice is finished. I’ll take you to Deaton when we’re done. I just...I don’t want you to run into anyone -”

“I totally get it and I’m totally down for it. I’ll just...I’ll be here.” 

Scott nods and flees. 

She stares at her clothes on the bench and breathes out as slow as she can to hopefully steady out her heartbeat. 

“That was weird,” she acknowledges. “Super weird.” She nods and unbuttons her jeans, then laughs at herself and bends down to take off her shoes first instead. When she slips off her jeans, she’s so fucking curious about the state of her underwear, but she avoids temptation and doesn’t even feel herself over the cloth, just immediately slips on her gym shorts. Her shirt is a bit more difficult because when she slides it off, the fabric rubs against the front of her bra, and she moans from the pressure on her nipples, even though it was so light.  _ Fuck.  _ She’s a lot more careful putting on her gym shirt. 

Once she’s completely changed, not even bothering to put her shoes back on, she has to admit that she feels better. It’s nice to be out of sweaty clothes and her gym ones are much more loose and airy. She feels like she can breath, despite the constant clench of her cunt around nothing. 

She clenches her hands onto the edge of the bench and tries to breath through it, bending her head down and closing her eyes. 

The locker room door opens. 

She ignores it, because it’s probably a girl from one of the other sports teams. They’ll most likely leave her alone, unless they ask if she’s okay. If they do though, one comment about cramps and they’ll understand and leave her alone. 

The footsteps head straight in her direction, which is more curious. And when a voice calls out, “Stiles?”  _ that’s _ the point where Stiles sighs heavily through her nose and wishes she didn’t come to school at all. 

She raises her head and Isaac is looking at her from the end of the bench, surprised and...sad? 

“Hey,” he says softly, and doesn’t move. They stare at each other for a moment and he clears his throat and walks to her. She tenses, but doesn’t stop him from sitting down a foot away from her on the bench. 

“I just - uh.” he sucks in a breath through his teeth, which must be a habit of his, and is wringing his fingers together. He’s wearing his gym clothes, too. He’s skipping practice. “I wanted to say I’m, uh- I’m sorry for teasing you about the - the whole...thing.” He’s not looking at her, but she’s staring at him, gobsmacked. “I mean, I already knew you were a little irritated by it, but you’re obviously having a hard time right now, so I’m sorry if I - you know, if I made it worse or something, by saying something.” he sits straight now, and look at her. “I like fucking with you, but, uh...” he trails off and blinks a couple times. “Uh.” 

Stiles waits. Her heart is beating faster. 

Isaac shakes his head and clears his throat. “Uhm. Right. I was saying…” 

“You were saying sorry,” Stiles hears herself say. “For messing with me today.”

“Right.” He nods and swallows thickly. “Uh.” He stops again. 

“Are you...okay?” Stiles asks softly. This is kind of what just happened with Scott, she realizes. She turns toward him on the bench but also uses the shift to back away from him a bit, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he responds, just as softly. “Sorry, I’m...I don’t know. Uh, do you smell something?” he looks around curiously and she breathes in. 

“Not really. Usual locker room sweat.” She licks her lips.

He nods slowly, watching her tongue, then shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re right. Yeah.” He turns to face her again and talks, keeping eye contact as he does. His hands move as he speaks. “Anyway, yeah, I’m sorry. I meant it as a joke, but it’s obviously at a bad time.” he runs his hand through his hair and she watches closely, watches his fingers work between the strands and settle them down. “I just wanted to, uhm. Apologize. Because.” His hands fall back between them and she keeps staring. They’re long. His fingers are long. Her stomach tightens and she breathes out slowly. 

He breathes in, words stopping mid sentence. 

“Uhm,” he breathes out, voice rough. “Stiles. You.” his hands reach out and takes hers within his, and when she looks down she realizes her hands were gripping the bench hard enough to go white.  

“Oh. Uh.” His hands and fingers wrap loosely around her own, then her wrist, and forearm, and they travel and grip around her upper arms. The graze of his fingertips against her skin make her blush, and she tries to say something, anything, as he scoots closer to her, but all that comes out again is, “Oh.” 

“Stiles, what’s going on,” he asks quietly, and little rushed. His hands are gripping tightly on her arms, so tightly, she might bruise, but he’s staring at her lips and throat, eyes blown wide and breathing picking up. 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, and tries to twitch forward, but his strength stops her and he growls. 

“I want to -  _ fuck.”  _ He breathes out harshly and his arms start shaking. “Is this - is this why -”

“Isaac,” Stiles groans, burning, burning.  _ “Please.” _

He moans softly. “What..what is...”

Stiles is sweating again. Her breath is shaking and - and - fuck, his hands feel so good around even just her arms, what if they were on her, sliding across her skin, traveling down, what if his fingers dipped into her pants, they’re so long, longer than hers, what if he bent her over the bench and just - 

_ “Isaac,” _ she whines, and he moans and barrels forward, slamming his mouth onto hers. 

Stiles’ skin lights up like fireworks. She gasps into his mouth and gets up on her knees on the bench, cradling his face between her hands as he moves his own to her hips and grips tightly.  _ God, god, so tight, _ his grip is  _ so good - _

Isaac lifts her shirt and suddenly his palms are on her skin, flat against her sides and so fucking hot, melting her into him so that her breasts rub against his chest with the harshness of her breathing. She grips onto his hair with her left hand and reaches back with her right to grip the back of his shirt and pull him closer. 

Isaac’s lips are dry but his tongue is hot and wet and dances with hers so well. He licks the roof of her mouth, which almost tickles, but a moan escapes instead of a laugh. She shivers, feels goosebumps raise across her skin. His hands travel up to her bra and his fingertips tease the edge of it, lightly grazing, until she’s whimpering into his mouth.

“Please,” she whispers between their lips meeting, “Please, please, please,” and he digs his fingers underneath the wire and cups her breasts with his hands. Stiles throws her head back,  _ finally _ some sort of satisfaction, and breathily moans. His mouth dives to her neck, and as he squeezes her breasts and licks and bites at the skin, as she whimpers into his hair and her hips grind against his waist, he lifts himself from the bench so he can swing his leg over and straddle it. She stays kneeling but he slides his hands to her back and urges her closer, then lifts his hands so that both her shirt and bra are taken clean off and thrown somewhere on the ground. 

Stiles is a handful, in life and in cup size, which is a joke she’s made in front of Lydia and Erica before, as if she’s had any experience with someone cupping her breasts. They had both rolled their eyes. Now Stiles rolls her own in pleasure since Isaac is able to literally cup her breasts in the palm of his hand and fondle them perfectly, perfect, god, yes, _ yes - _

She’s moaning, she knows she is, if anyone finds them, they’re fucked, but she can’t stop, can’t shut her mouth up, it feels so good, so fucking good.

Isaac’s mouth travels down her neck, licking, nipping, across her shoulder to the edge of her breast, and the hand that’s holding that one moves to her waist where his fingernails scrape and dig into her skin. He’s breathing so harshly, she can feels the puffs of air across her skin wherever he moves his mouth. It makes her tingle all over, down to her cunt, and her toes flex against the wood of the bench in pleasure. 

His mouth kisses her nipple. 

She’s shaking. 

The hand on her waist moves down over her gym shorts, but slips under the leg of the fabric and cups her ass over her underwear, kneading it between his fingers. 

His teeth lightly scrapes across her nipple, but he doesn’t suck, doesn’t bite. 

God. Fuck, god,  _ fuck - _

She whines into his hair again and pulls on the strands, then pushes her chest into his face so he can do something,  _ anything - _

His tongue peaks out and teases the nub -

_ Fuck, _ he’s  _ teasing _ her, isn’t he, fucking asshole - 

“Isaac, please,” she moans into his hair. “Please, fucking just - just  _ touch me, _ more, please, I want you, please -”

His teeth settle on the skin around her nipple and he bites softly and wraps his lips around it and  _ sucks.  _

_ “Fuck,”  _ Stiles breathes, and  _ “Aaahh,” _ she sighs and moans, as he bites and sucks and licks, and his other hand twists her nipple between his fingers and pulls roughly,  _ he’s rough, _ thank god,  _ god, god, god - _

She’s trembling against him, she’s probably pulling his hair so hard that it hurts, but it’s hard for her to focus on anything else besides his mouth, his lovely mouth, her nipples have always been sensitive and he’s fucking  _ ravaging _ them. Then there’s the hand on her ass that’s moving over her hips, curious fingers teasing the edge of her panty line. 

“Yes,” she encourages. “Yes, please.” 

His fingers find the bottom edge of her underwear, but they stop and hover over her mound for a second, and she realizes that he’s feeling how wet she is, grazing his fingers across the drenched fabric slowly, and she can feel the ghost of pressure against her clit just from this, which makes her buck into his fingers and arch her head back in another moan. 

He releases her nipple from his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering, and she whines in agreement. “Stiles, you -  _ fuck. _ You smell so good,” he moans. “So fucking good, so fucking  _ wet.” _

A newfound blush tingles across her skin and her whole body is shaking now, wanting him everywhere, wanting him on her -

His other hand continues twisting and pulling at her nipple but his mouth travels across the front of her chest, licking, kissing, biting wherever he can. As he does, his fingers under her shorts finally dip under her underwear and find where her wetness gathers. He moans against her skin, muttering  _ fuck _ a couple more times, and slides a single digit inside of her. 

Stiles gasps. Her hands move from his hair and back to both of his shoulders and she thrusts her hips lower onto his finger and it slides in so easy, she’s so wet, and they both moan. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Her nails dig into his shoulders. “Another. Another, another, another -”

“Gotchu, I got you,” he says between her breasts, and he slips in another one, still easy but so much more  _ full.  _ This is already bigger than her vibrator. Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _

“Fuck,” she moans, and he moans alongside her. 

“A-Are you okay?” he asks, face still pressed against her chest. He’s breathing harshly into her skin, she really feels it now. She wants to lower her hips farther onto his fingers but she can’t spread her legs far at all on this bench and there’s no more room to go lower, and he won’t  _ move. _

“Can you - more -”

“Finger?” he asks but she shakes her head and whines. 

_ “Move,” _ she groans, and he nods against her. 

“Yeah.” He thrusts his fingers slowly, in and out of her, and already she can hear how wet she is from his fingers thrusting. It’s so slow, though, so slow, and she whines again and clenches his shirt between her hands in frustration. 

_ “Isaac,” _ she begs. 

“I got you,” he says again, and removes his fingers. 

“No, no, no,” she practically yells, but he ignores her and takes his hand out from her gym shorts. 

He grabs her by the waist and lifts her. “Straddle me.” 

She swings her legs over his so that they’re around his waist. He’s supporting all of their weight now but doesn’t seem affected by it at all. Her thighs clench around his when he lets go of her waist, but his right arm loops around her hips and lifts her so his face is in her chest again. His right hand comes under her gym shorts again, moves the fabric over her cunt to the side which rubs against her clit,  _ god, _ then slips two fingers inside of her again, knuckle deep.

Her entire body tenses in pleasure and she gasps in relief. His mouth finds her right nipple and he bites and sucks at it as his fingers get to work inside of her, thrusting faster than before and hitting so deep, her legs are wider now, it’s easier now,  _ jesus christ, _ this is so much better, she knew it,  _ she knew it - _

The he crooks his fingers toward her walls and the fireworks return. 

“God, god, god, yes, Isaac, yes, yes, yes,” she chants, and his fingers work faster and his breathing gets rougher and his mouth bites across her breast and chest and anywhere he can reach, and he moans into her skin as she twitches in his arms and she’s close,  _ so close, _ but -

“Fuck me,” Stiles groans. “Please, just - fuck me, Isaac,  _ fuck me, fuck me.” _

His fingers thrust into her roughly and she knows he’s surprised, and he moans “Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ across her breast and she thinks,  _ yes, yes, finally - _

But his fingers pause inside of her, deep inside of her, the pads of his digits rubbing against her wall with tiny sure strokes. He doesn’t thrust them anymore, just keeps the pressure, and her “Ah, ah, ah,” becomes a whisper. 

“Fuck,” she hears him say faintly. 

“Isaac,” she whispers through a moan. “You can. You can, come on. Like this.” She lets go of his shoulders and he easily keeps her raised, holy  _ fuck _ that’s hot. His fingers are still twitching inside of her and she’s still releasing tiny gasps, but she tries to keep her hips still as she reaches her hands down to his gym shorts and slips her fingers beneath the waistband of them and his boxers. 

He seems frozen, like a statue, besides huffing into her chest and twisting his fingers inside of her. She pulls herself away just a bit so she can see down between them, can see when she pulls out his waist band then pulls out his dick with her right hand. 

It’s hard. Which seems silly as a fact, but it’s pretty gratifying to see a hard cock and know it’s because of her. 

It’s also very...pretty. Which,  _ of course.  _ This is fucking Isaac. But it’s long and thin and... _ pretty. _ She wraps her hand around it and softly starts rubbing her thumb against his tip. 

Stiles dips her head down to speak in his ear. “I’m wet enough.” She rolls her hips. He moans. “You know I am. You could just slip right in. I could ride you right now,” she says breathily. She can feel herself clenching around his fingers in excitement. “Come on.” She shifts closer to him again so that even her stomach is against him. She rolls her hips again and pulls at her gym shorts with her free hand. “Help me get these off.” 

She starts sliding one side down, then his left arm tightens around her painfully, and she can’t so much as roll her hips, let alone get the shorts off. 

“No,” he says, and it sounds guttural, forced.

A shiver of disappointment races down her spine. “No...no?” 

“No,” he says again, more sure this time, more distinct. Her breath stutters and her stomach drops out, and his fingers start leaving her. 

She’ll cry. Stiles will fucking cry. 

“N-no, Isaac, please,” she starts to babble, but his leaving fingers only get halfway before they thrust into her again. She moans from the unexpected intrusion. 

“We’ll do it like this,” then his fingers really do leave and he grabs her hips again and pushes her down onto the bench. Surprise leaves her in a gasp when her back hits the wood, and now her gym shorts are gone and she thinks she heard fabric rip. 

“Yes, yes,  _ god yes,”  _ Stiles moans, ready for his dick, naked under him, ready for him to fuck her - 

His right hand grips her hip with bruising force, and he doesn’t follow her down, instead drops his head between her legs and licks from her cunt to her clit in one sure stroke. 

She yells and her hips buck up harshly, almost hitting him in the face. His left hand slides to her lower stomach and braces her down to the bench. 

“Hold,” he demands roughly, grabbing her left thigh and raising her leg up so high to her chest that she knows she’ll feel it, she’ll definitely fucking feel it later. Her hand grips underneath her knee automatically and she holds on for dear life as he ducks his head back down. 

“I’m not fucking you,” Isaac growls, lips on her pussy. Stiles whimpers and her mind scatters everywhere, her body a light of pleasure when he pushes his tongue against her clit and slips two fingers inside of her with his right hand.

He doesn’t bother going slow again and crooks and thrusts his fingers inside of her with a scary amount of accuracy, hitting her G spot with the pads of his fingers so well that are back arches off of the bench. She’s yelling. She’s fucking yelling, she knows she is, can’t stop it, won’t stop it, because his fingers go so much deeper than her own or her vibrator and his tongue is doing -  _ god, things, _ it’s doing  _ things, _ it’s flicking up against her clit and then tensing down roughly and rubbing up and down against her with the sweetest pressure. 

Then his lips wrap around her clit again and suck and she yells his name and her free hand grips his hair and pulls at him, to get him closer, maybe, possibly, but not really, because he’s already so close, nose against her mound and breathing her in and tasting her, moaning around her clit - 

He takes out his fingers and dips his tongue to her cunt, points it and dives in. The heel of her right leg digs into his back. He sucks at her, laps up her wetness, then raises back to her clit. When his fingers come back she feels more full than before, and there’s probably three in her now, three of his fucking fingers, each of them curving up into her with dizzying pressure and force, “Isaac, Isaac,  _ Isaac, Isaac - Isaac - Isa -” _ and he sucks on her clit and flicks his tongue -

When Stiles comes, her back comes off the bench and she sees stars. Maybe she screams. Isaac keeps his fingers inside of her, directly against her G spot, milking her through it, but keeps his tongue loose against her clit and just lightly licks against it as she shakes and moans through her orgasm. 

She’s breathing heavily and every outward breath has a tiny moan accompanying it. Isaac takes out his fingers slowly and she doesn’t think to care where his hand leaves to. Her back is on the bench again. He leaves his tongue on her clit and she can feel him gasping still. She might be a bit lightheaded. Isaac laps at her pussy again, from her clit downward, and she twitches from sensitivity but gasps from the sparks of pleasure. He flicks his tongue in and out of her cunt, tasting her still, which doesn’t feel too overwhelming, just nice, and she sighs out in satisfaction and carefully rolls her hips to press her cunt more against his tongue. 

Then he gasps harshly, groans  _ “Fuck,” _ against her pussy, and sighs. He’d been jacking off, and came to the taste of her. Stiles’ mind is blown.  

Slowly, she lowers her left leg to the ground and unwraps her fingers from her thigh. Her arm drops uselessly to Isaac’s head, joining her other hand still holding onto his hair, just not as tightly as before. He’s shifted his head up to lay it down on her stomach, trying to get a hold of his breathing. Her entire body tingles pleasantly. She plays with his hair for a moment. 

And then what just happened hits her. 

“Oh.” Her hands freeze on his head. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.  _ Oh. My. God. _ Oh my god.”  

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees against her skin, and she sputters and attempts to sit up, but her arms are jello, and she falls back down. 

“Isaac, you just  _ fucked me,”  _ Stiles yells at the ceiling. 

_ “No, _ no, I did not,” he says fervently, and she feels him lift his head. “I made sure of that.” She feels him crawl up her body and he leans his elbows on either side of her head and looks down at her. “I fingered you.”

“And ate me out,” Stiles reminds, then shakes her head. “Not the issue.  _ You. _ And  _ me. _ Doing  _ anything. _ ”

“I know, I know,” he sighs. “Something got to me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it just - it just happened, and I -” he doesn’t know how to continue. “Stiles, it got to you, too. You were -”

“I  _ know,” _ Stiles interrupts, looking at him with dawning horror. 

“You -...wait a second.” He stares down at her. “Stiles.” 

She gulps down embarrassment, fear, and says to him, “It’s not you. I think it’s me. All day I’ve been - it’s been - I’m just horny all the fucking time, and it’s been building, and I wasn’t sure what to do -”

“You’ve been masturbating more often,” he says with realization, staring at her with wide eyes. She flushes from embarrassment but nods through it and closes her eyes. “That’s - that lead to this?” 

She nods fervently and raises her hands to cover her face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey, wait.” He hits his forehead against her hands. “Move it.”

She moves her hands. 

“So - so you’ve, what, just been more horny?” 

“Basically,” she whispers. “But like...a bit desperately.” 

His eyebrows come together, deep in thought. “And then today was really bad.”

“The worst,” she agrees. 

“And when I came in...no, when I got close to you.” He glances across her face. “Stiles, it was your smell. You just...you  _ smelled _ …”

“...like...want?” she says, remembering what Scott said. 

“I...Yeah, I guess that’s close. Definitely desire. Definitely that...I should be the one to ease it. I should be the one to fuck you.” he shakes his head. “Fuck, Stiles, I...I was actually going to fuck you. But.” he looks at her again. “You’ve never had sex, right?”

She shakes her head slowly. 

“I just...some part of me knew it wasn’t natural. It was - it was like I was watching it all happen from under water.” He breathed out unsteadily. “I could only kind of...shift my intention. But Stiles, I...I couldn’t  _ stop.” _

They stare at each other for a moment, then Stiles mutters, “I didn’t  _ want _ you to stop.”

It hangs heavy between them. 

“Scott was gonna take me to Deaton after practice.” 

“Scott knows?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles sighs. “He left me here to wait so that I wouldn’t...run into anyone.” 

Isaac scoffs. Then chuckles. Then outright laughs. Then he’s just laughing above her, forehead planted into her shoulder. 

“Glad you got a kick out of that,” Stiles droles sarcastically, even though she’s smiling, too. It’s pretty damn ironic. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps. Then he sits up and back until he’s out of Stiles’ line of sight. “You should get dressed before practice is up.” 

“I can’t move,” Stiles says to the ceiling. 

“Wait, what?”

“Pleasantly,” Stiles says before he gets worried. “In a pleasant I-was-just-sexed-way.” 

Isaac snorts and her shorts are thrown in her face. 

“Nice,” she says as she lifts them off. She feels around her waist, but her underwear are gone. They’re not in the shorts. “Do you know where my underwear is?” 

There’s an awkward silence. “I uh...I ripped them,” Isaac says, trying for nonchalant. 

“You  _ ripped _ them.”

“I ripped them,” he repeats. 

“Jesus.” She brings her legs up and slips her feet through the fabric, then lifts her hips and settles the shorts on her waist. She swings her feet over and onto the ground, tries to stand, them immediately falls to her knees. 

She bursts out laughing. 

“My god,” Isaac says from above her. “You weren’t kidding.” 

“Oh -” gasp, “my -” gasp, “god.” she laughs into the ground then turns onto her back. “Fuck. You fucked me up.” 

Isaac kneels down beside her and is keeping his eyes on her own as he passes over her bra. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

She takes the bra from him and slips it over her head, trying to keep eye contact. Once it’s in place and she’s more or less decent, she says, “Don’t feel bad.”

He raises a brow at her but she smiles softly. “Don’t. Neither of us had much of a grip, dude. And you managed not to go too far.” She sighs and shrugs sadly. “If anything,” she says even more quietly, “I’m thankful it was you, and not the horde of other possibilities.” 

He sighs and nods. “Okay.” 

“Plus,” she starts with a smile. “You were pretty fucking awesome, and I feel  _ really _ good right now,” and she rubs her thighs in satisfaction. 

Isaac snorts loudly and shoves at her shoulder, but he’s smiling, and looks a little better from the astute guilt he was rocking a second ago. “I’ll find your shirt.” 

Fully clothed and fully satisfied, for now, Stiles and Isaac leave the locker room and hightail it to Stiles’ car. She clutches her earlier clothes to her chest as they speed walk and tries not to think about what would have happened if someone she didn’t know, or a pack member with a partner, had shown up. 

In the car, she messages Scott that she’s leaving ahead of him with Isaac to see Deaton and that she’ll meet him there. Since practice is on for another thirty minutes of the usual two hour length, she doesn’t expect a reply. 

Her and Isaac look at each other briefly when she turns the car on. He has his fight face on, which Stiles appreciates. She doesn’t know how well she can talk about this and keep her head. 

Seatbelts on, Stiles puts the car in reverse and they squeal out of the parking lot. 


End file.
